Young Writers Group discussion

This was a project for my Creative Writing class. We had to write an Ode about a person, place, or thing. I decided to write my about roleplayers, because I do so much roleplaying.

There's not a lot of literary elements here, but I still think it turned out pretty well. :)

Be sure to leave a comment! :D

______________________________________________________


To become another and walk in their shoes,

not through lines, or scripts, or even costumes.

To roleplay is to improvise;

to paint a picture with nothing but your voice.

Roleplay means

accents and hand motions and expressions.

Roleplayers are few;

we must take on many personalities,

not just one,

because without all of the characters

the game would die

and we would be left with nothing.

To roleplay is

a sense of adventure, a sense of belonging, a sense of uniqueness.

Roleplayers have unimaginable amounts of creativity

and intelligence that cannot be measured by tests or quizzes.

Roleplayers are often looked down upon

as if they don’t matter.

They do matter.

We do matter.

Another poem for my class. This time we had to describe a scene from our childhood.

_______________________________________________________


Here at last,

the car trip past,

we stand in the snow

with faces aglow.

For a child,

the wild,

untamed beauty

as far as the eye can see

is astounding

and kind of overwhelming.

But to one much older,

they are more

likely to stay away

from that remarkably snowy day.

To show excitement for snow would be embarrassing.

A poem I wrote that was inspired by the Miles Edgeworth: Ace Investigations game. This is from Bryne's point of view. :)

_______________________________________________________


“You’ll do great things,

accomplish great feats,

my precious daughter.”

I finish signing the documents

that will ensure

her safety.

“No-one will hurt you,

not as long as he is there to protect you.

No,

not even she

may lay her hands on you.”

That women

thinks that she’s so cunning

but she

doesn’t know that

I know

how much danger I’m in

how my life is ending

how I fear saying goodbye

to my little girl.

My only hope

is that he will

continue to take care of her

after I’m gone.

“Miles Edgeworth,

the famed 'demon prosecutor',

is the only one

I can trust to keep

you

safe from her.”

I can only hope

that she knows

that even after all this

I still

love her.

Another poem inspired by the Ace Attorney series, this time from the Apollo Justice game. This one is from Kristoph Gavin's point of view.

I meant for this to be a freestyle poem, but this is a little different from most of my freestyle poems. This one is written in fragments, but also in paragraphs.

Please let me know what you think! :D

_______________________________________________________


White walls.

I am used to them by now. All around me. Blocking me in. Hiding me. Hiding. Surrounded by everlasting white. Smothering me. I’m used to it by now. These white walls are home to me.

Home. No. I may live here, but it’s certainly not home. Home. Have I ever really had a place that I could truly call home…?

The cell. Number 13. It had been cozy, but lonely all the same. Dingy. Small. Pathetic. Not at all befitting to a man -a genius- such as myself. Alone. No-one ever came to visit me.

Why? Why? WHY?!

No. I shake my head and narrow my eyes. I know why.

The reason. That broken glass bottle, cold in my warm hands. The weight is good. Perfect for my intentions. I recall the piercing shriek that tore free of him as his skull fractured underneath my strength. A loud crack. A splatter of blood. Messy. I have to cover it up. Run. Hide.

My memory clouds.

That’s right; that man evaded me still. Even in death.

Next was the girl. Annoying little brat. Untraceable poison. That girl would take the fall, or die beforehand. I would stay safe. In my cell. Alone.

Maybe before that cell, many years before. An apartment. Small. Crowded. Lonely. That couldn’t have been home. Perhaps home was that mansion far across the seas. Home? Germany.

No, that can’t be right at all.

Avoided. Enclosed. Misunderstood.

My head begins to pound painfully at the memory of self-loathing. I had to be the smart one. He got to be the one that they loved. Now? I, the killer. He, the golden boy. How ironic that one so stupid and ignorant could end up content while the intelligent brother ends up locked away with no hopes of freedom.

Sometimes I hate him. I really do. Like now. Like I have ever since that fateful trial. I tremble violently. Red clouds my vision. Anger, not blood. I wish for blood. Hate. Burning hate. I love it, thrive in it.

I run one hand along the white padded walls and wonder faintly if they would hear me laugh. Or if I screamed. Or if someone else screamed. Maybe they wouldn’t care. Maybe they would. No matter. Two deaths lay behind me. Two different men. What’s one more success in a world of failure?

But how? These white walls trap me. Keep me safe. I don’t want to be safe.

He’ll visit sooner or later. He has to. Bastard! Asshole! Fucking prick! I hate him. So innocent. So pure. It’s sickening to a twisted soul such as myself.

But what would I use? Nothing sharp. Nothing blunt. There’s no time to find something; the doctors would simply take it from me before I got the chance to use it to crush that smiling face.

Aha!

There’s no straightjacket either. Could I use my hands? A strong possibility. Hope bubbles up amidst the steady throbbing of bloodlust.

Of course, I would be sure to lose all freedom. But I have before. That foolish new nurse. She didn’t stand a chance. But that was a year ago. They’ve loosened their guard now. They’d let him in. Defenseless.

Well.

I wait, grinning a little to myself now. Planning. Hoping. Yes, these white walls taunt me. Bind me. Twist my mind. Make me crazy. Well, I can deal with crazy. And maybe I can kill one final time before they change their minds to give me that death sentence that I was expecting. Maybe I can finally prove myself to be superior to that numbskull.

Maybe.

My best friend --> http://darkcuddles.deviantart.com/

Her girlfriend --> http://mysterythought.deviantart.com/

Check out their pages to understand the poem. ^w^

______________________________________________________


Red.
Two faces clouded in heat
from blushes gained
after secretive glances
and lingering embraces.

Orange.
Watch the sunset,
hand in hand,
hoof in hoof.
It’s so beautiful
but not quite as pretty as her.

Yellow.
The bright sun shines down
and illuminates her smiling face.

Green.
Unicorn and sheep lie together in the tall grass.
A soft kiss.
Maybe two.
It’s so peaceful, just the two of them.

Blue.
A sky so open to wonder,
so wide and free,
so very beautiful.

Indigo.
Flowers pale in comparison to her beauty.
Seeing her happy makes her happy too.
She loves everything about her.

Violet.
Her glossy coat
and the final color
of her companion’s fluffy wool.

* * *

A colorful rainbow races across the sky,
a beautiful signature that says:
“I’ll love you forever.”

“Be better.
Be stronger.
Care more.
Try harder.”

I’m sorry I can’t
be perfect,
be absolutely perfect.
I can’t measure up
in every single way.

So why?
Why can’t you leave me be,
and just love all I can do,
all that I’m actually good at?

This is me we’re discussing.
Not a puzzle
not a problem
not one of your precious students.

Just that one girl
that cares more for fiction than reality
that isn’t very social
that isn’t getting straight A’s
that befriends those society views as being different
that thinks differently than you do
that IS different from you.

So what if I care about

anime
manga
roleplaying
fanfictions
yaoi
yuri
my book
my favorite couplings

more than I care about
the shows you watch
your friends
socializing with family
going to football games.

I’m not social.
I don’t like sports.
I need time to myself a lot.

(No!
Don’t bring her into this!
Don’t you fucking dare!
I’m not the same as her!
Don’t you ever say that!
Ever!)

It hurts,
like a slap to the face
or a kick to the shin,
to know that you think so little of me.

Me.
Your daughter.
Am I really nothing to you?
Just the other twin?

You’re my mother.
It’s pathetic.

We could go and eternity
never fighting
but you,
you easily jab into the wound.
Tear it open.
Pour salt in it.
Rub it in.

I laugh it off.

She’s the smart one after all!
“Try harder.”

But that’s okay, because I’m the pretty one!
“Don’t you care how you look?”

We’re the best of friends!
“Be more like your sister.”

Well I’m sorry,
but maybe I fucking can’t.
Ever thought of that?
Hm?

Maybe I can’t be
anyone other than me.
Maybe that makes me a heartless bitch

(like you’re implying).

But I’d rather be a heartless bitch
than someone that would bend
to other’s expectations.

Didn’t you teach me that?

“Don’t let others decide who you are.”

Have you forgotten that already?
I haven’t.

You say that you worry about me,
but aren’t you really just worried
that I’ll be different
from what you always wanted
in a child?

A short poem based on the protagonist of the novel I'm writing. :)

_______________________________________________________


She wakes in shadows
(I wish I could!)
She walks in silence
(Just shut up!)
She moves on alone
(Stop crowding me!)

n
o

m
o
r
e
!

m
a
k
e

i
t

s
t
o
p
!

Voices crowding her head
(Memories of disappointment.)
Expectations make her crack
(Broken down; hysterical tears.)
Shows her weakness
(I wish I could be strong.)

o
v
e
r
w
h
e
l
m
i
n
g
.

My god!
Does it ever end?

Perhaps if she can find herself,
then she might
possibly
have a chance.

Just trying my hand at a bit of personification. ^w^

___________________________________


Emotional

is what they call her.

The way she flickers

while they stand strong

disgusts them.

The pure white

souls

turn away from the beauty

of the untamed wonder

that they are unaccustomed to.

She’ll burn out;

fate will always push her to that.

And the others

will just stand as stoic as ever

until the wick is charred and black

and she is gone for good.

Like them!

Thanks! ^w^